


The Food of Love

by Ceares



Category: Leverage
Genre: F/M, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Multi, Pic for 1000, Temporary Character Death, They get better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-10-12 19:59:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10498425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ceares/pseuds/Ceares
Summary: Death is eating his cookin’. Not something Eliot ever figured he’d see. If there’s one thing he knows, though, it’s what he’s good at, so he’s not surprised when Death wipes his mouth delicately, nodding at him. “Really quite nice. You have a gift, Mr. Spencer.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Death is definitely modeled on Supernatural's Death  
> Thanks to Felicia for the reading and cheerleading, as usual  
> Inspiration for this in part, came from Queenklu's [ Can't Believe I Never Noticed my Heart Before](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1477675) and in part from reading multiple versions of Orpheus and Eurydice for my folklore class.

Hardison could have hacked it, but he didn’t.

Parker could have stolen it, but she didn’t.

That’s not how they roll with each other.

That’s why, one morning when they’ve been a lot more than a team for almost seven years, over a breakfast of sweet crepes with caramelized pears and candied bacon, Eliot hands them the key to his heart.

He’s a little ashamed when they lay it in the box next to Parker’s, practically new gold, shining brightly, and Hardison’s, bronze worn soft, more beautiful because it’s been handled so much. His is plain iron, rusty, dented, almost worn through in places; but they lay it next to theirs, beaming and the three lock into place, complementing each other.

When he brings the box and lays it, open, in the middle of the circle, Quinn curses under his breath; but he stops grumbling about overdeveloped guilt complexes and getting too attached, doesn’t ask again if he’s sure. He finishes drawing the patterns on the floor and steps back. Eliot settles on the floor in between Hardison and Parker, paper bag next to him and takes their cold hands in his, closing his eyes, waiting for his heart to stop beating.

Among death dealers, there are rumors -- that there are ways to chain reapers, ways to meet death. Moreau spends millions and searches for years for someone who knows those ways, and when the guy has spilled everything to Eliot, he begs Eliot to keep the secret from Moreau, to kill him rather than let him reveal it again, Eliot obliges. He buries the knowledge deep and swears never to use it, but it won’t be the first vow he’s forsworn for them, maybe won’t be the last.

Still, only someone that’s died can open the door, and that’s where Quinn comes in. He’d been clinically dead for 45 minutes once upon a time. He’s heard the rumors too, thinks Eliot is crazy though for even trying this, but he lights the candles and begins to chant. His words fade as Eliot does.

When Eliot opens his eyes, Hardison and Parker are staring at him in shock, anger, and dismay. Their hands are clasped and they’re ... he wants to touch them, to pull them into a “Hardison hug” warm and tight and never let go.

“Eliot, man, what did you do?”

Parker glares at him. “You don’t belong here.”

“I have a promise to keep.”

“While that is an admirable sentiment, young man, I have to agree with Parker. You don’t belong here. The two of them have caused enough trouble, refusing to go on without you, but I must insist that you at least be _dead_ before you join them.”

Eliot tries not to jump as the man moves out of the shadows. He’s thin and pale with an aura of power about him that sends a shiver down Eliot’s spine.

Death pauses, tilts his head and sniffs delicately. “Is that -- muffuletta?”

Eliot holds up the bag. “Homemade sourdough bread.”

 

Death is eating his cookin’. Not something Eliot ever figured he’d see. If there’s one thing he knows, though, it’s what he’s good at, so he’s not surprised when Death wipes his mouth delicately, nodding at him. “Really quite nice. You have a gift, Mr. Spencer.”

“Great. So, can we deal? Keep me, send them back.”

“Oh hell no!”

Death ignores Hardison’s outburst. “Even if I wanted to, why would I trade one soul for two?”

“Two good souls for one that’s ---well you know what mine looks like.”

That earns him a raised eyebrow. “I’m not in the judgment business, boy, just the reaping business. If you want to make that kind of deal, you need a crossroads.”

Not like he hadn’t considered it but he’d seen one or two of those deals, enough to know that when a demon was involved, it wasn’t just yourself likely to get hurt. Once upon a time, he might’ve been willing to take the chance but Hardison and Parker would never forgive him if some innocent person got hurt cause he was dealing with the devil, literally, to get them back. 

 

Death considers him a moment, then takes another delicate bite of the sandwich. “When your time comes, you’ll come to work for me.”

Considering where he figures he’s headed, Death is doin’ him a favor. He nods.

“We all do.”

Eliot whips his head around and glares.

Parker crosses her arms defiantly, staring intently at Death. “We all do, or we stay here.”

“No! The two of you ain’t givin’ up your ride upstairs...”

Hardison rolls his eyes and Eliot misses the days when he used to scare him. “We change together man, remember?” He looks at Death. “We’re a package deal. Three for the price of one. The best hitter, hacker and thief out there, at your disposal.”

Eliot knows he would have gone on, but Death sighs in exasperation and holds up a bony hand.

“Enough!”

He sounds oddly like Nate for a second, and Eliot will have to tell him that when -- if he sees him again.

Death considers the three of them, looks down at what’s left of his muffuletta wistfully and then nods. “I’m going to regret this, but fine, the three of you may stay together. Until then, if you would please, Mr. Spencer, exit stage left.” He gestures with his hand to the stairwell that wasn’t there a moment ago. “A warning. Don’t stop, and don’t look back.”

“Really?”

Death shrugs. “If you’re going to steal, it might as well be from the classics.”

Eliot’s no hero and he knows how this story goes, but not this time. He doesn’t have to look back to know that they’re behind him all the way up, up, up. He can feel their hearts pulsing with his and when they all sit up, gasping for air, to Quinn’s startled “shit!” hands still tightly locked; he looks over and the box is glowing.


End file.
